Number Up
by SassyJ
Summary: "You seem to be bleeding, Mr Reese." Finch and Reese encounter unusual difficulties dealing with the latest Number.
1. Another Number

"Mr Reese, you seem to be bleeding." Finch's voice held notes of genuine worry. Reese peeled his torn shirt back and peered at the wound in the mirror. It was a bit of a mess. He decided not to answer.

"Is that a bite?" Reese tried to ignore the rising tone of worry, as he dabbed at the bite.

"Yes, it is. It seems that our number is not as helpless and clueless as her appearance suggests."

"She bit you?"

Reese took a deep breath, he really wasn't used to dealing with this level of concern about his personal health; but coupled with his encounter with their number, where he, and the bad guy came off considerably worse, he was feeling irritable and rather embarrassed.

Stacey Collins, blonde, spray tan, brassy clothing, stiletto heels, long, _sharp_ false nails which she used to considerable effect. Reese had come upon her seconds after some lowlife in black was attempting to haul her into a waiting car.

Stacey Collins was a fighter, she didn't waste breath in screaming or ineffectual wriggling, she went for her attacker claws curled, scratching wherever she could reach, finally gaining enough purchase on the ground to drive her stiletto heel into the guy's foot, he howled, swore and let go.

Reese stepped up, intending to put himself between her and the man attempting to abduct her, but Stacey had taken his presence as another threat. He had successfully blocked her initial attempt to scratch him, wrapping his arms around her.

Big mistake. Huge. She wasn't about to calm down, or listen to what he had to say. She was intent on getting free and clear. The bite was painful enough, but he wasn't going to let go, then she drove her lethal stiletto down into his foot.

Reese had been beaten up, shot, even stabbed a couple of times, but nothing quite prepared him for the agony of a four and a half inch steel-tipped stiletto heel driven with malicious force and every ounce of strength and anger that a hundred pound woman could scare up straight down into his foot.

He let go.

She fled.

He had just enough of a glimpse of her disappearing back to tell him that Usain Bolt himself couldn't have caught her.

"Mr Reese."

Reese became aware that Finch was talking to him.

"Sorry." He sighed a little.

"It appears Miss Collins has no qualms about defending herself." Finch was perfectly straight-faced, although to Reese's suddenly over-sensitive hearing it sounded a little like a rebuke.

"I couldn't hold her." He admitted. "She was terrified, but she fought like a tigress."

"Her number is still up there. I've been attempting to track her movements, but Miss Collins has turned off her phone and is clearly hiding." Finch stared down at his phone as though seeking inspiration. "We need to find her."


	2. Almost Barbecue

"Miss Collins has turned her phone back on." Finch rapidly typed something, "perhaps she is not adverse to being found?"

Reese leaned over and checked the screen. "This address?" He raised an eyebrow. If that was where she hung out, it came as no surprise that she could defend herself.

"You pick her up," Finch leveled that stare at his colleague, "and try not to lose her this time."

Reese checked his weapon. "I'll try." He said dryly, and left while his bruised ego still had a little pride.

* * *

The building was old, and curiously empty looking. But the computer never lied, so Reese discreetly took a look around.

He was just debating the best way in when he caught a glimpse of an oddly familiar vehicle. "It seems our friends are back." He murmured absently, while checking out the vehicle, as Finch acknowledged.

Aware that getting into the building, finding Stacey and protecting her were now matters of extreme urgency, Reese checked each door carefully. Finally he found ingress through a small door that appeared to go into the basement.

It was dark and gloomy, but he couldn't really risk a torch to give away his position. He could hear movement up ahead of him, and quickened his pace.

Sounds of a scuffle, and then a man's scream.

Reese shot forward. The assailant was stumbling back, rubbing his eyes with his hands. "BITCH!" The man howled.

She was standing her ground. A large can of hairspray in her hand. "Back orf."

Reese ducked back a little. Strategic retreat. Her would-be attacker was stumbling away, moaning.

Stacey moved a little closer, holding the hairspray in front of her like a weapon. Reese had no intention of giving up, but he wasn't going to risk a facefull of hairspray either.

"What you lookin' at, Mister?" Her tone was belligerent but curious.

Reese sensed an opening. A tiny one. "You, Stacey. You're in trouble. I can help."

She took another step closer, lowering the can. Reese wasn't taking chances, he just stood still.

"Say I am? I'm doing just fine by myself." Her tone was tense rather than aggressive.

He could sense her wavering, up close, under the heavy make-up and the ridiculous garish clothes, she very young. She wanted a reason to trust.

It just popped into his head. "Come with me if you want to live."

The defensive look in her eyes evaporated, and for an instant she looked like a scared little girl. He watched the self-confidence ooze back, and she put her head on one side studying him. "Say I do, what happens next?"

"We keep you safe, until we can neutralize the threat."

"WE? What we? I don't see any 'we' here?" The aggression was back in her voice, and the can of hairspray was held out in front of her again.

"Calm down." Reese took a deep breath, this was not proving to be easy. Miss Stacey Collins had more chips on her shoulder than a woodcutter's shed, and it took very little for them to start flying. "My associate and I. That's the We."

She looked slightly mollified. "Okay." The can was starting to lower again, Reese stepped forward, "can we move now? Before your friend comes back."

"He's no friend of mine." Stacey muttered sourly.

The door opened behind her, and Reese jumped forward to protect Stacey.

"AARRRGGHHHHHH!" Stacey screamed in rage, fumbling in her pocket, Reese had a split second to register the danger and get out of the way, as she ignited the hairspray with a lighter.

The flame was impressive, as was the resulting high-pitched scream of terror from the would-be assailant.

Reese grabbed her arm, "run" he snarled, and they turned and fled in the opposite direction.

Bundling Stacey back down the stairs, outside into the street and into the car, Reese realized he was actually holding his breath. "When you said she was in danger, I didn't realize you meant to herself, and any innocent passersby." He muttered irritably.

"YOU WHO?" Stacey squirmed in the seat. "And… are you even singed? I missed you by miles."

Reese ignored her. "Do you have her safe, Mr Reese?"

"I do." Reese replied. "Although safe might be a relative term." He shot a sideways glance at the pouting girl in the passenger seat.

"Great! Eight million people in this city, and I have to be rescued by an _OLD_ guy who talks to himself."

In spite of himself, Reese's lips twitched. Stacey Collins might have been a loose cannon, but she wasn't short of something to say for herself.

He had the subject, now Finch had to work out what was hunting her.


	3. Change of Circumstances

The hotel was small, quiet and discreet. Perfectly anonymous. Finch rented two rooms.

Miss Stacey Collins in the all too orange flesh was not what he had expected. He tried not to stare at the too long false eyelashes, the very heavy black eyeliner and the very bright eye-shadow and the pouting lips.

"Do we have anything?" Reese raised an eyebrow, and tried not to smile at Finch's very obvious state of confusion over the state of their latest number.

Stacey sighed and slumped into an overstuffed armchair. "Great. Not one, but two _OLD GUYS_." She reached for a piece of fruit in the bowl in front of her.

"The… er… the question is…" Finch stammered.

Reese was almost tempted to make a crack about the you tube generation having passed Finch by, but since he'd mostly missed that too, it seemed a little ungenerous to say anything.

"The question is, what do you guys think you can do that's better than what I can do?"

They nearly jumped.

Finch turned awkwardly in his chair. "We can help you."

Stacey bit into the apple she'd picked up. "Look. No disrespect or anything, but I've been surviving my family, and the sort of trouble that being a member of my family brings since I was six years old. Whatever this is. It's just more of the same."

A little light went on in Finch's brain. "Who are your family? The records were a little thin on that."

Stacey eyed him levelly for a moment. He looked past the garish and glossy exterior, despite the seriousness of the situation Finch was impressed. Her taste aside, Stacey Collins was a force to be reckoned with.

"Father, Michael Collins. Yes, _that_ Michael Collins. Mother, Stephanie Danetti. Yes. _That_ Danetti. Irish cops one side, the Cosa Nostra the other side. My parents, somewhere in the middle. As far as anyone is concerned that is. I decided a long time ago that I wanted out. I have been extracting myself from the Collins/Danetti _alliance_ since I was a child. Everything I did from the age of 14 was so that I could walk away free and clear. I left school at 16, trained as a beautician and climbed off the grid two years ago." Stacey took another bite of the apple, "mostly. That was the last time someone tried to take me out. As you can see, they were unsuccessful. Now, I turn 21 in two days time, and old Nonno Danetti's will comes into effect, leaving me the bulk of his estate. Which I have no doubt is responsible for this latest beat down."

Listening to this very young girl's story, Reese wanted to hurt somebody. Stacey Collins should have been enjoying her youth, not dodging bullets and being used by her family.

"Anyway, I have a way to fix this." Stacey concentrated on her apple for a moment, "okay not exactly fix this, but at least bluff them to a standstill."

There was something about Stacey, Finch decided. A gutsiness that made you think she could pull something off.

But ever cautious, he was not about to commit Reese to something foolhardy, so he said "what do you have in mind?"

"How does dinner in the dragon's den, sound?"

Finch and Reese both frowned at that.

Finch was certain that whatever she had in mind was foolhardy in the extreme, and said as much.

Stacey grinned. "Have dinner with me at Michael's." She said to Finch. Even Reese had heard of the private, exclusive dining club. His eyes widened momentarily at the memory of the eye-watering prices.

"I've already booked the table for two. They'll all be there, waiting to see if I turn up." Stacey rummaged in her bag, and upended it onto the table, the contents spilled out, and a small potato rolled onto the floor.

Reese bent down and scooped it up, puzzling as to why she would carry a small raw potato around, which was when he noticed the rolling pin. "What's this for, making pie crust on the lam?" He made an experimental swish with the implement, it felt rather weighty in his hand. Mentally he winced at the thought of it making contact with his skull.

"Not exactly." The words were barely out of her mouth before Reese noticed the change in her accent.

"What happened to the Mini-Wise-Guy routine?"

"I find it pays to appear to be less… capable. In long term survival techniques." Her voice without the cloying accent was softer, more attractive. She was holding out the key to a locker. "I need the contents of this locker," she reached for a piece of paper and scribbled down a locker number and an address.

Reese looked to Finch for confirmation. Their number was definitely a surprise.

It was a little unsettling to Reese that Finch seemed so off balance with Stacey.

When Stacey disappeared into the bathroom, Finch seemed pensive, and Reese sensed an opening, so he asked.

Finch hardly seemed to hear him. "She reminds me of someone I once knew." He murmured absently.

* * *

Reese retrieved the contents of the locker, returned to the hotel by a very roundabout route, and handed the garment bag and holdall through the bathroom door. Finch was engrossed in his laptop, and barely seemed to notice Reese leave or re-enter.

Reese discreetly checked his weapon, he had the feeling that he would be the one on the outside on this one, it wasn't lost on him that Finch had changed his clothes. The brown pinstriped suit, dark red tie and greenish linen shirt had been replaced by a dark blue three piece suit, lilac shirt and a tie in a slightly darker shade of purple.

"Well?"

It was quite a transformation, Reese thought. Stacey Collins cleaned up real nice. Her long golden hair was sleek, done in a simple pony-tail style which draped over one shoulder, the dress dark blue lace over a lighter shade of silk underneath. The make up was soft and subtle. Stacey Collins was a world away from the brassy, vulgar girl that Reese had had so much trouble with earlier in the day.

"Marie." Finch whispered.

Reese snapped round at that, a pain in Harold's voice that he hadn't heard since they encountered Grace, the fiancée who believed that Finch was dead.

His boss was staring at their number with a sheen of tears in his eyes.

Things had just gotten a whole lot more complicated.


	4. Diner a trois

Reese shifted uncomfortably and peered through the camera's lens for the fiftieth time. Stacey Collins had chosen a window seat, basically painting a target on herself. Clearly aware that there was little that Reese could from outside the club. He watched Finch interact with her and tried to read the subtleties of the body language. Or at least the body language that his boss's damaged skeletal structure could manage.

Stacey Collins was something new for Reese. She seemed to be able to adapt like a chameleon and she had sparked something in Finch that Reese had never seen before.

_A hint of romance?_

Idly Reese peered through the lens again, as Finch leaned forward a little and said something, Reese watched Stacey's smile light up, and she laughed. Then Finch reached out, Reese stared through the lens as Stacey's hand brushed his, then their fingers entwined for a moment.

_More than a hint_.

Reese eased down a little, and tried not to mind his chilly and uncomfortable position in a doorway opposite the dining club. He played a small scenario in his head, dinner for two and champagne. It wasn't lost on him that he could picture Detective Jocelyn Carter sitting opposite him.

The dance was long, and sensuous, and in moments of repose, he could imagine taking it to its conclusion, to have Joss by his side, to have a family, an attempt at a normal life.

He had seen the pain of giving up Grace take a toll on Finch. It was impossible to tell if Stacey was seeing Finch as a daddy substitute, or if something quite different was going on, but he imagined that Miss Stacey Collins didn't have much time for the immature and irresponsible.

Peering through the camera's lens again, he studied Finch's expression. There was a light in his eyes that said that this dinner was more than just a job to him.

But none of Reese's musings would be worth a damn if he couldn't stop whatever had been set in motion. Stacey's move was certainly bold. It put many suspects right there in front of him. He had been discreetly snapping pictures all night.

* * *

Harold Finch found himself more and more drawn to the young woman sitting opposite him. Walking into the dining room with Stacey on his arm, he had never felt more nervous. The information he had studied before embarking on this crazy mission told him that she had not exaggerated, this would indeed be the dragon's den.

A casual glance at the occupied tables they passed as the Maitre D showed them to their table said that he would be dining amongst some of the shadiest characters he had ever encountered.

The unsettled feeling came to an end when Stacey took his hand as they moved through the room. Her fingers were trembling slightly. He squeezed her hand. Whatever anxiety he was feeling, this young woman needed their protection.

Since he had begun his course of action, he had usually only been tangentially involved on the ground in what Reese did. This was a different path, like his foray into hands on investigation when Reese was recovering from his injuries.

Despite Stacey's bravado, he could see she was scared. Then he had coaxed her, and charmed her a little, he could see gratitude in her eyes. And something else, and that scared him. For Harold Finch had made a promise to himself four years ago that he would never allow someone to touch him deep inside again. An innocent someone whose life might be destroyed by what they knew.

In her softened voice, in the touch of her hand, he could feel the danger. The danger that a tiny little corner of the wall he had built around his heart from necessity, would be cracked by emotion and an innocent would steal in. Unaware that the cracks had started to appear when he had taken a desperate itinerant from the streets and given him a purpose in life.

Unaware that he was already too late. A brave and unusual woman had made a place there even before she had taken his hand in a crowded dining room where danger hemmed them in on all sides.

* * *

Stacey Collins sat across from the man she had decided to place her trust in and studied him. His big associate was just outside the club, across the street, and she hoped that it wasn't too cold for him. Worrying about others had become second nature to her. The constant machinations of her family, the eco-system that could blow up at any time and scatter mayhem amongst the residents. She had once heard her father refer to it as wise-guys killing wise-guys and nothing to worry about. Well, she did worry about it.

A course of action that had led her directly here. To a dining room where she dined with a man she had just met, and pretended that she could not sense the menace all around them.

Harold was an unusual man, they talked of music and art, and books. He didn't talk down to her and she found herself talking about her choice of career. Not just something that was shallow and vain, and completely mobile for security. She would visit the elderly as well as the young and foolish. And the mortuary, because didn't the dead deserve to look well as they slept in eternal rest. How sometimes the families were able to have an open casket, because Stacey had worked some magic with some tricks that a taxidermist had taught her.

How bringing some beauty into the world helped make her feel better about the life she had been born into.

How the day after tomorrow, when the estate of her grandfather was hers, that every single cent was going to charities all over the states, and there was nothing that anyone could do or say to stop her.

Her family knew and were not happy about it.

Harold Finch knew then that Stacey Collins had crept into a corner of his heart, and he knew that he was going to help her in her task, and somehow he and Reese were going to keep her safe.

Across the street, Reese smiled grimly to himself, as the conversation he had been trying to ignore took a startling turn. He peered through the lens again at Finch. Saw Finch's hand meet Stacey's in the middle of the table, saw their fingers entwine and knew that his tentative feeling from earlier was correct.

This one had become very personal.


	5. Unexpected Complications

They stepped out onto the street, and an icy gust stirred the air. Finch slipped an arm around Stacey as she shivered and pressed close to him as they got into the car.

Reese, playing the role of chauffeur, kept quiet and drove.

"I have no idea how we got away with that." Stacey's voice was pitched a little too high, and Reese stole a glance in the rear view mirror. Despite the pain it might cause with car still in motion and the slightly awkward sitting position, Finch still had his arm around Stacey's waist.

Reese laid down a trail that no one would be able to follow, mentally wincing at the few potholes the Lincoln hit. Finch had never mentioned his extensive injuries or the accident which caused them, but that did not mean that Reese was oblivious to the constant daily physical pain that Finch lived with. His boss or partner never really let on, but Reese had grown to recognize the signs. The moments when the pain threatened to overwhelm Finch.

That moment in Dr Tillman's cubicle, Reese couldn't help but hear. Finch had had fusion surgery to his C3 and C4 vertebrae, and on a good day the pain was a 3 or 5.

That was some pretty acute pain he was describing. Reese was quietly impressed by his boss's fortitude.

Dr Tillman had been reluctant to refill Finch's prescription as the drugs were powerful, but because he was the politest patient of the day, she was prepared to cut him a little slack. Reese smiled briefly at the thought. That was Finch all over. He'd apologize for causing trouble if he had been run over by a bus.

It was late when they arrived back at the hotel. While Stacey and Finch took the elevator to different floors and walked up or down the stairs, Reese slipped quietly up the back stairs, confident in his false trails and that there were unlikely to be passersby on the back stairs.

* * *

Finch let himself and Stacey into the first room, grateful that they'd made it. For a moment there was a slightly awkward silence, then Stacey turned towards him.

"Thank you." She said quietly, stepped forward, slid her arms around his neck and kissed him on the cheek. Startled, Finch's hands went to her waist. They stood there, almost nose to nose and Finch acknowledged to himself that Stacey Collins had definitely got under his skin.

"Am I interrupting?"

Finch almost jumped, and Stacey stepped back a little, sparing Finch's blushes. Smart, gracious, loving, their number was pushing buttons that Finch had believed were inoperable years ago. Before Nathan, before the machine, to a childhood so distant that it seemed like another time zone.

_Marie_. Finch forced his emotions under control and turned around. "No." He said firmly. "The camera, Mr Reese."

Reese read the strangely frozen look on Finch's face and handed over the camera without comment.

_Marie._ Reese had no doubt if he asked a direct question Finch would give him that frown. Then either decline to answer or provide an explanation which was convoluted and utterly incomprehensible.

Stacey had pulled a chair up next to Finch's table, and was filling him in on the background of each person that Reese had managed to photograph. Names, dates, places, records were spilling out onto Finch's screen as he typed.

Reese decided that he could leave them to it, and grab a shower, before he would be required again. Freshened up and more relaxed, he would be able to focus on saving Stacey and maybe working out who Marie was, and why Finch seemed so profoundly affected by Stacey.

The shower had warmed him up, and he felt refreshed. Wrapped a towel around his waist, and used another to rub his hair dry.

He pulled the towel away, and Stacey was standing there in the doorway. She looked uncertain, and absurdly young. She had kicked off her skyscraper platform heels, he estimated that she barely scraped 5' 1", and he downsized his estimate, if she weighed 85 pounds he would be surprised.

"I'm sorry." He frowned, confused, then realized she was talking about the bite mark on his collarbone.

"It's nothing." He glanced downwards a little discomforted to be standing there nearly naked in front of her.

She mis-interpreted his downward glance. "That too." She said. He looked at the scrape down the inside of his left foot. Once he had recovered from the stinging pain, he realized that she had actually failed to do anything too serious, it was just a long shallow scrape down the inside of his ankle and foot. But her defensive strike was pretty effective whether she achieved a real injury or not.

"That's nothing too."

"I can see that." She indicated the scarring over his abdomen, that showed above the towel wrapped securely around his waist. "You saved me, John, and I was ungrateful."

"You were scared."

She looked down at the big bag in her hands as though seeing it for the first time. "I've been scared for most of my life, John. I've been surrounded by monsters." She smiled a little at that, but it didn't lift the sorrow from her eyes. "I was six years old when I realized that my father was a monster. One of my school friends' fathers worked for my grandfather. One day her father turned up dead. My father did it."

John couldn't take his eyes from her face, even though he was aware that Finch was listening, and that Stacey wasn't really telling her story to him. She was trying to make it easier on Finch to know the true horror of her family connections.

"Of course, I have no proof." She looked down at the floor again, "and you won't find any proof. I moved out, I stayed mobile, and for four years everything was fine. Then grandfather died four months ago, and I'm right back where I was."

"Not quite, Miss Collins." Finch's voice sounded a little breathless to Reese's ears, as though he was struggling to contain his emotions. "We can help fix this."

"You don't know the whole story, yet." Stacey sighed. "It's not just me. If they can't get to me, they'll turn their attention to Harold to flush me out."

"Harold?"

Finch and Reese were now really confused. The machine spat out one number, Stacey's.

"My horse."


	6. Before Dawn

Reese slipped into the horse barn, wondering for the fifth time why he was doing this. He hadn't ridden in years. But Stacey couldn't be seen at the stables. And a horsebox straight from the barn would be too easy to follow.

So the plan was for Reese to pick up Stacey's horse and ride across Central Park to a pre-arranged exit where a horsebox would be waiting and hopefully they would be loaded and away before anyone was any the wiser.

So it was a few minutes before dawn. Reese had been given all the relevant access, fourth stall from the south end and he wanted to be clear of the horse barn and fairly far across the park before dawn broke. He reached the right name on the door and peered inside.

"Hello, Harold." Reese murmured, a certain irony in his tone. Well aware that Finch could hear.

Stacey was a small woman, somehow Reese had expected a fairly small and easily manageable horse. The huge paint that loomed out of the darkness was the exact opposite of what he was expecting. But the animal seemed friendly enough, nudging Reese's pockets in search of carrots. _Harold's favourite snack_.

Harold submitted to Reese's awkward saddle up without demur. He followed Reese obediently out of the barn, and let Reese mount him without fuss.

"So far, so good." Reese muttered.

They set off, and Reese realized that Harold was definitely not a beginner's ride. He could feel the barely contained power beneath his seat and thighs. But so far, the horse behaved impeccably.

"The horsebox will be at the East Gate in ten minutes, Mr Reese."

"We'll be there, Finch." Reese was starting to relax. So far Harold the horse hadn't done anything too terrifying, _unlike Harold Finch._ Reese smirked a little at that thought. Although he could still feel the potential for that to change at any moment, they had reached a point in the park where Harold clearly wanted to take off. Only good manners prevented his rapid flight.

It was a cold and misty morning, and the park was deserted. They had reached the halfway point, passing a small group of trees.

The attack came from the left, men jumped from right and left. Reese was alert, but at a disadvantage as Harold spooked, he was yanked half out of the saddle. Harold plunged wildly twice, and Reese was flung to the hard ground. He tried to compensate, relaxing as he crumpled into the ground, the blow to his shoulder drove the breath from his body, as a blinding flash of pain swamped his senses and oblivion took over.

* * *

Fifteen minutes had passed. Finch was feeling anxious. He tried calling Reese, no answer. The line was dead. He tried re-dialing. Nothing.

Finch swung into action. Swiftly he dialed Fusco's number as he walked, Fusco answered on the second ring. Finch didn't waste time with preliminaries. "Our mutual friend is missing, I need you to cover someone at risk."

Grudgingly Fusco agreed, and silently Finch hoped that Stacey would be as easy to manage. He thanked Fusco, and climbed into the car.

Predictably, Stacey was unpredictable. "Harold, I don't need a keeper. Until day and a half ago, I did just fine by myself." He found himself fishing for reasons why she should just take his advice. She stepped closer then. He couldn't think straight when she was standing there in front of him like that, and he could drown in her beautiful brown eyes.

He was long past the age of adolescent crushes. He had kept Grace safe by walking away, putting distance between them. Stacey was no different. There was no room in his life for a woman.

Especially not one who was young enough to be his daughter.

She was right there in front of him. Her hands went to his shoulders, his fingers spanned her waist as though by instinct. "John saved me, Harold. And I know what he means to you," he knew he would have, _should have_ said something then, but she shook her head "and I have to do this. I've had Harold since I was nine years old, and he's part of me."

She put her head a little on one side. "Besides, I have an idea who has John and my horse, and I have one thing to trade." There's a reassurance in her gaze and he found that oddly endearing, as hard as he fought to keep the process of endearment in check. This was Stacey, not Marie. Marie was long gone, and it was not his fault she was gone.

It didn't matter how many times he told himself that, it didn't alter the emotions that threatened to overwhelm him.

"I can do this." She said. He knew then that he would give in, despite every instinct that was telling him not to.

"One condition." He said. "You have back up."

Stacey agreed, standing there in front of Harold Finch, small, insignificant-looking, not handsome, but smart. Super-smart, and Stacey had always found intelligence more enticing than pretty looks. John was handsome, charming, gentle and everything that a girl could swoon over, but even if he had not been obviously interested in someone else, she would have been drawn to Harold.

John had risked his life to save her, and Stacey was not going to leave him dangling. The thought of what might be happening to John, and to her horse, made her blood run cold.

Elias wanted to unite the five families. Well, this was one branch of the five families that was going to stay away from the table.

* * *

Reese was conscious, which was his misfortune. His captors had stripped his jacket off, tied his hands behind him with rope and dumped on freezing, damp, brick-covered ground.

His right arm was broken, he knew that. The pain was just about bearable until he moved, then lightning bolts stabbed his arm from shoulder to elbow, elbow to wrist was mostly numb and his fingers barely moved. He lay face down on the cold, hard ground and prayed for a miracle. A small one. Anything. Because he was going to have to get up, get his hands free and get out of there.

A warm breath tickled the back of his neck, Reese opened his eyes slowly. He was lying on a stable floor, at least he assumed so. They didn't normally allow horses indoors.

Whoever they were, they had stripped Harold of his bridle and saddle. Not that they would be of much use in Reese's present predicament. First he had to get free, then he had to work out a method of escape. For himself and a seventeen hundred pound quadruped that had never done anything harmful to anyone.

In a small corner of his mind, Reese also worried about the people who he knew would be worried about him. Carter, and Finch. Probably even Fusco by now. Even a certain young lady who should have been dancing at her birthday, and enjoying it.


	7. After Dark

Figuring that he didn't have long to get out, Reese tamped down on the pain, and worked to get his hands free. His right arm was excruciatingly painful, any movement sent sharp jabs of pain arching down from his shoulder. Agonisingly, the injury seemed to allow him slightly greater freedom of movement with his undamaged left hand. He could reach the knots, and that was his adversary's biggest mistake.

Slowly but surely he managed to pick the knot undone with his left hand. The rope fell away, there was a jolt of pain as his injured arm dangled. It was useless, and he wasn't going to last long with one functioning arm, against either Danetti's gorillas or, perish the thought, Elias.

It was at the back of John's mind that this had the hallmarks of Elias behind it. A bold and risky move, but one that he had managed to pull off.

Reese knew he had to get away, and quickly, he needed back up on this one. He glanced up at the stable bars, with two good hands he could have got over the stall without too much difficulty, but injured, not a chance. Besides, he couldn't leave Harold. The defenceless animal didn't deserve some grisly end.

Reese sighed. "Harold, why couldn't you have been a Chihuahua?"

Harold's black ears swivelled forwards, and he made a soft snorting noise. It sounded vaguely like laughter.

Reese fished the paperclip out of his boot, and reached through the bars to the lock. He was right handed, and it was difficult picking the lock from inside the stall, but he wasn't about to leave anything to chance. He had to get out of there, and get Harold as far away as possible.

It was slow going, and arduous work, Reese's fingers were sore from manipulating the paperclip, but finally the old lock gave.

They were getting out of there. Awkwardly, Reese undid his belt, and used it to immobilise his injured arm, Harold was still wearing his halter and there was a halter rope dangling conveniently over a hook outside the stable, the horse followed him willingly.

It was dark, and the rain was pouring down, the weather so miserable that it would effectively cover their exit. It was going to be cold and unpleasant, and if he didn't get pneumonia at the end of it all, it would be something of a miracle, but Reese couldn't remember the last time he was pleased it was raining.

Harold came to a halt beside the mounting block. Reese looked back, surprised, wondering if he was hallucinating. Harold seemed to be saying _get on_.

Reese was already cold and sore, bodily contact with the horse would keep him at least a little warmer than walking in the driving rain. He climbed on with some difficulty.

"Home, Harold." He said, more in jest than any real expectation that the horse would understand him.

The black and white head swung round, the nose bumped his foot, and for just a second Reese could have sworn that Harold winked at him. Then the creature set off out into the dark and stormy night.

* * *

Detective Jocelyn Carter frowned as Finch explained the story. In her wilder moments home alone in the dark, when the day didn't seem to want to end, and she couldn't sleep, she thought of John Reese. How she should have turned him in, how she should have put a stop to all this. Because if she had put a stop to this, John would not be missing and her heart would not be fluttering in her chest, and bile would not be rising in her throat.

Grudgingly she had long ago accepted that she was fascinated by Reese, and that he meant something to her. Now, knowing that he was missing, very possibly wounded or injured in some way, and that the weather had closed in and he was out there all alone, Joss acknowledged that John Reese had stolen her heart. She had already been responsible for him nearly losing his life once before, if anything happened to him now, she would go on, but knew that the world would be darker and her heart would be forever lost.

The intense feeling that swept through her when Finch told her of the incident would not help find him.

Stacey Collins. Daughter of high ranking, and more than likely corrupt, official in the Police Department also gave her pause.

"Miss Collins." She kept her tone workmanlike and carefully neutral.

Stacey turned towards her. "You don't believe me." The flat little statement hung between them.

"It's not that I don't believe you." Joss paused, looking for the right words, not wanting to spook the girl further.

She could see the frustration in Stacey's eyes, and in spite of her disbelief she was impressed at the young woman's strength of purpose.

"I never wanted to know what my family got up to. I've stayed as far away from them and everything to do with them, until I could leave home legally. I have left them alone, and mostly, until now, they have left me alone." Stacey turned away towards the window again. "Now people have put their lives at risk to help me. It isn't just my life, it's John and Harold too."

Carter watched Finch move to stand next to Stacey, saw the way he took her hand, the look that Stacey gave him and wondered if Harold Finch realised how deep the young woman's feelings for him obviously were.

Stacey pulled herself together. "Detective Carter, I have in my possession my grandfather's journal. I have only read a few pages, I know there is enough in it to cause two of the five families a great deal of trouble. Up until today, I would never have passed this to anyone outside of the family."

Joss studied her face, "but now you will." Realising the enormity of the risk that Stacey was preparing to make.

Stacey nodded. "When they were trying to kill me, it was all part of the game. I can take care of myself. But now John's life is at risk, and dammit, they have my horse. And, there's worse. Carl Elias."

_How do you know about Elias?_ That was the question on Carter's lips, but she sensed that that question would be a painful one. Joss knew that was a place that Stacey would prefer not to go.

"Very well." There wasn't much time, it was already dark, and somewhere out there Carl Elias was making his next move.

Finch looked like he wanted to protest, Joss could see his feelings were being torn between his desperate desire to protect Stacey, and his need to save his partner. But he wouldn't stop her.

"I'll give you what you want. One condition. You help me get John and my horse back, alive."

Joss nodded. "Let's go."

* * *

Harold plodded onwards, Reese sat on his back, hunched up against the elements. He was soaked to the skin, shivering with cold, surprise trickles of rain down the back of his neck kept him miserably but safely awake.

He had no idea where they were, or even where they were going, he just hoped that Harold had some sort of sense of direction and that the horse was indeed heading back to somewhere familiar. If not, next stop Canada.

It was not lost on Reese that the horse had wandered off the main path several miles back, and seemed to pause every time they came to anything that looked like habitation or a black top road. He was trying to get his head around the fact that Harold appeared to be sneaking past places where their enemies might be holed up. Or so it appeared to Reese's fevered imagination.

It was very dark, but Harold seemed to know the way, so Reese tightened his grip on the rope, and wound his fingers into Harold's mane. _Miles to go, and promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep._

* * *

"Let me summarize the situation for you, gentlemen." Carl Elias sat on the over-stuffed love seat in the small parlour. "Our quarry is injured, he is alone, without weapons and in possession of a large black and white horse. He is cut off without contact and probably has no sense of where he is. Yet six of you are insufficient to track down one injured man and a large horse."

Elias smiled. His two lieutenants standing in front of him feared that smile.

"Find John Reese."

He did not abuse or threaten. The fear he spread was all the more effective for it.


	8. Rapid Flight

Fusco drove, Joss sat in the back seat and Stacey directed from the passenger seat.

"Why here?" They were now outside of Carter's jurisdiction and seemed to be headed away from the city.

"Ever played forts when you were a kid?"

Both Fusco and Carter nodded, "Sure."

Stacey paused for a moment. "This was my version. I trained Harold to come here. Every time he comes here, big bucket with all his favorite foods in. Believe me, not much gets between Harold and food, he's been thinking about that bucket all day. He would slink through hell itself to get to that bucket."

"But what if he's trapped and can't get away." Joss wanted to know.

"John."

"If Reese is injured, he might not be able to get away."

Stacey turned around. "I'm guessing you weren't exactly the sunny kid in your class, were you?" The hard-boiled accent was back with a vengeance. "We have to go on a little faith here, but if you have a better idea, let's hear it, because this is my only one."

"And if Elias and his men show up?"

"I have been planning for this eventuality since I was nine years old and Nonno Danetti gave me Harold for my birthday." Stacey rummaged in her bag. "Damn."

"What?"

"I thought I had another potato in here." Stacey looked around, popped the glove box, Joss' lunchtime banana was sitting on top. "Mind if I take this?"

Puzzling what Stacey might want with a banana, Joss nodded. "Go ahead."

Stacey stuffed the banana in her bag. "You turn in just up here. It's a real sticky turn, you'd never see it at speed so slow down."

If the stakes hadn't been quite so high, Fusco would have been enjoying himself. Stacey Collins was an extraordinary young woman, and a pretty one too.

"Everyone used to wonder why my favorite subjects at school were History and Geography. My family always wondered why I spent so much time out here too." Stacey dug in her bag again and produced a bulging diary planner. She popped the snap and rummaged in the back.

She handed a piece of neatly folded paper to Joss. "You were in the military." Joss nodded, "well that's a plan, kinda."

Joss took the paper and unfolded it.

It was a detailed map, with diagrams. Joss stared it in disbelief. "How in the world did you learn how to do that?"

"War movies." Stacey grinned.

Fusco and Carter stared at her. Stacey poked a finger at the map. "Four ways in for vehicles. These three" she indicated them, "are all booby trapped. Any car will just bog down." She turned back to Fusco, "the turn's just here."

Fusco slowed. The turning was tight, covered in bushes. He turned in and tried not to mind the prickly brush scraping along the side of the car.

"Nearly there."

Fusco pulled up behind a low building, and turned the car, while Joss and Stacey prepared to wait.

* * *

It was cold. The rain had stopped, but that didn't make a whole lot of difference to Reese. He had stopped caring about an hour ago. His injured arm was numb, which was a small mercy, but he was freezing and Harold had picked up his pace.

Reese figured that the horse knew exactly where he was going and was definitely in a hurry to get there. He was hoping that wherever 'there' was, that it had some facilities which would help, because he was running on pure adrenaline and that was fading fast.

He was shutting down and he knew it, he just hoped they arrived at their destination quickly.

Harold reached a road, and crossed quickly, diving through the bushes the other side.

* * *

Carter's jaw dropped in disbelief as a large black and white horse suddenly appeared through the bushes and headed straight for them. Reese clinging to his mane.

As Joss stepped forward to help Reese, she realized that John Reese had definitely pierced her defenses and taken up residence in her heart. She wrapped a blanket around him, he was shivering so hard he could barely speak.

"Elias." He managed to get out.

"Sssshhh." Joss carefully avoided his injured arm, and steered him towards the car.

She got him into the back seat, and turned back to Stacey. "Are you coming with us?"

The blonde shook her head, "Get Reese out of here, and tell Finch I'll be at the place we discussed in one hour. He'll do everything from there."

"The journal?" Joss hated to ask.

"When I know that Reese is safe, and this is over."

Joss nodded, and slid into the seat next to Reese. He was gray with fatigue and the stress of the injury.

"Do you mind?" he said.

Wordlessly, she shook her head, and eased an arm around him as he shifted closer. She could feel his chilled skin gradually warming as he leaned against her.

She winced at every jolt, but Reese bore it all stoically.

She reached into her pocket with her free hand and pulled her cell out. She dialed the number she had been given. "We have him, and Stacey's in route to the place you discussed. One hour."

She listened to instructions, responded yes or no, and hung up at the end of the call. Turned her attention back to Reese, leaning heavily against her shoulder. She swiveled her body a little so that she could support him better. Looked in his beautiful blue-gray eyes and realized that he was just about holding on. She put her free hand up to his cheek. "Stay with me." She didn't mean for her voice to tremble, to show him how far he had decimated her defenses, but it happened anyway.

She was never more relieved when they met with Finch, and John was in the care of a doctor.

* * *

Reese woke in his apartment to a lousy headache, a sore throat and a broken arm in a cast that run from his knuckles to his shoulder. An ever attentive Harold making sure his needs were met, a worried Detective Jocelyn Carter checking up on him, even the occasional enquiry from Fusco.

He wasn't used to that level of concern, and brushed through it with a certain taciturn awkwardness, that he usually adopted in moments of social unease. His arm was sore and immobile, so he was restricted to strict desk duties only if the problem arose.

Stacey had a new home, a new car, a new stable and field for Harold, and everything was now as it should be. She had handed over the journal and the threat had abated.

And it was all for the best.

He didn't have a choice. There was no happy ever after.

John Reese did not believe that for a second.


	9. After the Ball is over

Reese lasted four days.

No numbers had come up. Elias appeared to have gone to ground again. But he still couldn't shake the feeling that this was far from over.

And then there was Harold.

Since the day John Reese had met Harold Finch, he had come to know two things about the man that were incontrovertible. At some point in the relatively recent past, the man had been dealt some life-changing injuries in some kind of crash and that Harold Finch was an enigma wrapped inside a mystery.

Harold's calm self-possession never faltered. Even in moments of agitation.

Until Stacey Collins charged into their lives, and Harold's self-possession seemed to be taking a holiday.

The man was miserable.

Reese knew that a normal life was out of the question. Their lives were far from normal and never would be the accepted version of normal. But that didn't mean that they had no chance whatsoever at happiness.

Stacey was different. She had connected with Finch at a level which surprised Reese. It wasn't just her resemblance to the mysterious Marie. Stuck outside on a cold step in a windswept doorway, taking photograph after photograph he had had time to study them together at that intimate little table in the dining club.

Whatever else was going on that brilliant and restless mind of Finch's, he was deeply attracted to Stacey. And sure, she might have been young enough to be his daughter, but her body language and the look in her eyes did not suggest to Reese that she was looking at her dining companion as a daddy figure.

At the time he'd stuffed that information to the back of his mind. Filed away under interesting but not relevant to the task in hand. Now, out of action with his arm in a cast, and an inconvenient sling supporting it, Reese had time to think about that.

He was at the library, having taken up residence on the over-stuffed sofa that Finch sometimes used to catch a nap. Reese had repositioned the sofa slightly, picked a large book at random from the shelves and settled in to study Finch through the book stacks. He pushed the cushions to one end, and slumped down on his spine. If Finch should catch him he had a book and a cover story.

A perfect blind for some bird-watching, Reese's lips twitched at that.

At first, Finch did nothing but type. But then he seemed to come to a break in whatever he was doing. Reese had snapped several pictures of Finch and Stacey together, curious as to whether Finch would delete them or keep them.

He could just see the edge of Finch's screen without moving, see the edge of the picture that Finch was looking at. Stacey's picture.

Reese eased down into the cushions a little more and stretched his legs across the other arm of the sofa, thinking through what he was about to do. That he was going to do something was never in doubt.

Finch had given him his life back, okay, maybe not his actual life, but a facsimile of it. He had something to believe in again. After years of lonely disillusionment, and pain that Reese had sought to numb at the bottom of a bottle, he had a purpose in life. Courtesy of Harold Finch.

He could see why telling Grace the truth about Finch would make things worse. She had moved on with her life, and mourned the man she had loved. But Stacey was not Grace. And maybe that would only be a fleeting moment in time, but didn't they both deserve a chance?

Easing his phone out of his pocket, he thumbed a text to Carter.

* * *

Finch was used to the pain, normally he would just pop another pill. But this time he almost welcomed it. It helped cover the empty feeling. It helped cover the memory of his last conversation with Stacey. The hurt look in her brown eyes as he coolly said goodbye and walked away.

It was the right thing to do. She was young enough to be his daughter. Young enough to find a good life for herself, have normality and a family. A future.

She didn't need to be with a dead man.

That was that. If only a pair of brown eyes were not making it really tough for that to be that.

Stacey had unlocked emotions that Harold had thought were long buried. First Marie, and then Grace, that was enough loss for him. Then a sparky blonde had dragged him into a dining club amongst wise guys, and they'd dined and flirted all the while aching with fear. Adrenaline had swept away reserve, and he'd let down his defenses.

Well, no good could come of it, but he couldn't quite bring himself to wipe the pictures that Reese had taken.

* * *

Joss Carter opened her front door slowly. He was just leaning casually against the door frame. "You're early." She tried to keep her tone neutral, but the sight of him, standing there, like a big jungle cat with a sore paw. She frowned a little, her first contact with John Reese had been a smelly, unshaven, dirty, drunk, homeless man, since then he'd become _suit guy_, but a suit to go visiting the shore?

"Aren't you a little over-dressed?"

He smiled at that. "Since you're driving, I'm buying."

She picked up her keys and her jacket.

"I thought this was about seeing that Stacey Collins is alright?" She gave him a searching look as she headed to her car and he fell into step beside her.

He shrugged.

"There's more to it, isn't there?" Joss didn't know whether to be irritated or resigned.

"I need to talk to her, without Finch knowing." He said quietly, slipped his jacket off and laid it on the back seat, before sliding into the passenger seat. Joss got in, and pulled her seat belt across, noticing the awkward twist as John pulled the seatbelt across his body. With his jacket off, she could see the outline of the cast under his shirt sleeve. It was one of the lighter modern ones that you wrapped like a bandage after soaking it in water, they came in a variety of colours. Joss found herself wondering if the lady doctor who took over from her when they pulled up in front of the building Finch had sent them to, had only had blue available, or whether a fanciful part of her had chosen blue because it went with his eyes.

It was not lost on Joss that Dr Tillmann was young and pretty, and she had a special soft tone in her voice when she spoke to John. The soft tone, and the look in John's eyes sent a frisson of something that felt a lot like jealousy through Joss's soul.

"Your arm alright?" She put her hand out and took the seatbelt buckle from him, pushing it home into its lock.

"Spiral impaction fracture. Take a couple of weeks to heal."

She was a little surprised that he offered the information. A wave of tenderness swept through her, she could see the top of the cast was just below the shoulder joint, if she looked closer, his blue-gray eyes were tired, and he looked drawn.

Her hand seemed to move of its own volition, and she gently stroked his shoulder. "I'm sorry."

He was silent for a moment and then he said, "I'm not." She processed the words for sarcasm or teasing, but there was none. A moment of truth between them, and she would cherish the memory of that.

She smiled at him then, and said nothing further, but backed the car out into the street and set off then.

He settled into the seat, enjoying the rare moment of accord between them. One that needed no words to spoil it. At the end of the journey, Stacey, and a situation that he knew that he had to do something about, because evil only prospered when the good did nothing; and Harold Finch needed Stacey Collins for however long it lasted, whether he liked it or not.

John sighed, humans were not meant to be alone.


	10. The Piper At The Gates of Dawn

They drove through the small town, "Let's try the shop first." Reese said.

"It's your party." Joss followed his directions, pulling up in front of the beauty parlor. It was closed. Reese got out of the car to view the opening hours on the neat card in the window.

"One hour." He slid in to the passenger seat, accidently jolting his shoulder as he did. He didn't cry out, but Joss saw him turn white, and bend forward a little at the pain that seared through his system.

Anxiously she bent over him. "John. You should be resting. Not chasing around the countryside after Stacey Collins." She laid a gentle hand on the back of his neck and rubbed in soothing circles while he waited for the jangled nerves to die down.

She could feel the contained power beneath her hand, she knew his skills, his training and also knew that he would never hurt her. Promised from the depth of her heart that she would never hurt him, because that would be hurting a part of herself.

Slowly he straightened up. Turned his head to look at her, she could see the sheen of tears in his eyes from the pain that had coursed through his whole body, but his good hand came up and gently cupped her chin, he leaned across, closing the distance between them.

He paused, his lips a fraction of an inch from hers, blue-gray eyes looked deep into hers, and her eyelids fluttered closed as his lips touched hers. The kiss was gentle at first, slow and sensuous as though he was afraid of scaring her. Joss's hands slid around his neck as she pulled him closer, her lips parted, and his tongue darted between.

A coldly, logically functioning part of Joss Carter's brain said that they shouldn't be doing this, that Reese was a vigilante that she should have been taking down, that he was injured and far from recovered and she might hurt him in the awkward enclosed confines of the car, and that they were starting something that they couldn't finish in the middle of the town. Her body was already aching with need for him and she could feel him quiver with the effort of banking down the fires that were clearly raging.

Very gently she pulled back a little, and the sense of loss was painful. She could see that in his eyes too, and her hand caressed his cheek. "We came to find Stacey, not the end of the rainbow." She said quietly. "Let's find her."

She left the statement open and he understood.

She turned herself back to the steering wheel, "where to next." A little too brightly, her emotions not quite under control.

He told her, and they set off.

"Did you see the sign?" He said quietly.

Puzzled, she nodded. Bright, pretty, very fresh and new, Stacey's name, a small logo of a bird in the corner. She replayed the image in her mind. "A goldfinch."

He smiled.

She was starting to believe that whatever John had in mind, the young woman would not be adverse to it.

Stacey was not at the house, but they walked down the track which led to the beach, in the distance, a girl on a horse.

For a moment, Reese was content to watch. Harold was a fizzing handful, and Reese was very glad that manifestation of his personality hadn't shown itself five days before. His very small rider had no trouble containing his exuberance as they sailed over a large piece of driftwood on the beach.

Reese waved. Stacey dropped her hands and Harold accelerated, she bent low and encouraged him. The big wooden gate which lead to the beach no barrier.

Harold slowed and stopped obediently.

"Reese!" Stacey dismounted and stepped forward to give him a gentle hug. She looked around. "Detective Carter."

The wistful sorrow in her brown eyes was hard to miss.

Feeling a little uncomfortable Joss turned her attention to Harold who nosed her hip hopefully. "Sorry fella." She patted his neck. The saddle and bridle were brand new, and a brand name too, Stuebben. Joss Carter did not know much about horses and their accessories, but she recognized expensive, high quality manufacture when she saw it. She doubted Stacey had the kind of money that wouldn't miss the several thousand dollars that Harold's new saddle and bridle must have cost.

The only possible conclusion, reclusive, billionaire vigilante, Harold Finch had not only bought Stacey a house, purchased and equipped a beauty parlor and given her a car, he had gone so far as to buy a very personal and extremely expensive gift for his namesake too.

_Nothing says "you're special," quite like gifts totaling hundreds of thousands of dollars, especially when they're thoughtful, intelligent gifts._

Joss had given John a little privacy for whatever he was going to say to Stacey. She watched them though, saw Stacey's hand fly to her mouth, saw the tears in her eyes, watched John put his good arm around her. She leaned into him for a moment, then stretched up to kiss him on the cheek.

They took their leave of Stacey, who seemed a little distracted and walked back to Joss's car. She was burning to ask him what he had said to Stacey, but that would be an invasion of their privacy. They reached the car, and Joss moved to open it. John stepped forward then, slid his good arm around her waist and brought her close. Whatever was in Joss's mind, flew out as he bent his head and kissed her.

"Home?" he whispered against her lips. She nodded slowly. Whatever else happened they had now, and each other. And now and each other would do for the rest of time if only he would love her the way his lips and his eyes had promised.

He leaned in again, she felt his teeth graze her neck in a little sucking bite which tingled through her nerve endings far more than was reasonable. "I think, if you let me love you, I think I could give up breathing." He whispered against her skin, and her knees disappeared.

If his arm hadn't been holding her up, she would have melted into a pool of desire at his feet. The only place she wanted to be was home, where they could close the door, and explore each other.

Reluctantly they parted, walked back to the car, and drove away without a backward glance.

They failed to see the dark car pulled off into the bushes or the man who watched them leave.

* * *

Finch scrolled down through the information he had managed to find on the Collins-Danetti family. Convinced himself that his interest was purely in the interests of Stacey's safety.

It was late. Almost midnight. He heard the door open very quietly behind him. Probably Reese with another green tea, and an excuse to be here. When Finch really wanted to be alone.

"Harold." He almost jumped, and turned around.

She was standing there, large as life, and he realized that Reese had told her where to find him.

"You shouldn't be here."

"Perhaps I shouldn't, Harold." She walked towards him, put her hand out and waited for him to take it. His brain was saying no, but his heart wanted something else. Heart won.

Her fingers were slim and warm. He concentrated on the sensation of her soft skin against his, let her pull him to his feet. "You're too young," he tried again, "I'm old enough to be your father."

"I have a father," she smiled up at him, "I don't think of you as my father." He was drowning in the warm seduction of her smile, his hands migrated to her waist as though they had a will of their own, and he gave up the unequal struggle. This close, he couldn't hold back. He should hold back, and he was sure he would disappoint her, but his defenses were low.

She leaned in to kiss him, and he met her half-way, her skyscraper platform heels almost put her on his eye-level. They explored each other, he could feel her fingers loosening his tie, he was getting into it, losing himself in the kiss. His hands strayed up her back, and reached up to free her hair from its elaborate knot on top of her head.

Pin by pin, he freed the mass of golden waves that tumbled down to well below her shoulders. She gently pulled his tie free of his shirt, he tugged her closer. Their first time deserved something better than the narrow sofa bed set up that he had in the library.

Pulling back a little, he guided her to the elevator.


	11. A Normal Life

Carter woke slowly, it was late and dark outside. The unexpected warmth of Reese curled into her side, his arm in its cast resting on her stomach. She smiled sleepily and slid her hand over his fingers. They were a little too warm to the touch, and she put the back of her hand against his forehead.

He was running a temperature, and now she was officially worried. Their lovemaking had been incredible, but he was already injured and under the weather from the soaking he had got only five days before.

"John." She patted his cheek, he made a grumpy noise and cuddled closer. She tugged the quilt out, and wrapped it around him. She would leave him for now. If he got worse, she would call Finch, wrap Reese up in the quilt and take him straight round to wherever Vigilante Central was. That was assuming that she could even move him. He was a big guy.

"John, where's your medication?"

"Jacket pocket." He croaked.

It was a lousy end to a beautiful day. There was a tiny part of her that was annoyed at herself, annoyed with him; feeling this damn much for John Reese had never been in the game plan. One day she would find him in the streets either dead or bleeding out and then her heart would be forever broken.

She eased away, tucking the quilt round him, worrying more when he screwed his eyes tightly closed and burrowed deeper into the pillows. The tough stoical soldier never showed pain. He had to be sicker than she thought.

Joss slipped her robe on, and dug in Reese's jacket pockets for his medication. Went for a glass of water, read the label, tapped two into her hand, and tried to get him to take them.

"Reese." She set the glass and the pills down on the nightstand. "John?" She gently stroked his hair, he made a noise deep in his throat, but he responded to her. Sitting up slowly, he took the pills she held out for him, and a quick swig of water. She helped him lie down again.

Joss stayed then, her heart melting as her tough vigilante burrowed against her seeking comfort. She knew it, John Reese had stolen her heart. She eased down beside him, his too warm body wrapped around her as though he belonged there. His head rested against her shoulder, her arm curved around his back and with her free hand, she gently supported the cast.

She sensed rather than saw the smirk, and decided to let it go this once. He _was_ sick, and in pain. That did not give him a bye to behave any way he chose, but this once she would let that slide.

Besides, she had him. The sardonic tough guy was a routine. A tried and tested routine, but his soul underneath was still tender. She didn't know many guys who would get up off a sick bed to drive out of the city on the off chance they could match-make for a friend.

Her lion with the wounded paw was a sentimentalist still. Even though death and tragedy had stalked his life, he retained his human core. She rubbed his back a little, perhaps that was his tragedy that he could still feel.

She bent her head and rested her cheek against the top of his head. _Don't ever stop feeling, John._

* * *

The apartment was the best that Finch owned, panoramic views of the park, huge, luxurious rooms. Enormous double bed with the finest linen, soft feathery pillows, and a quilt like a fluffy cloud, if he had ever thought about it beyond the need for a centrally placed bolthole, Finch would have realized that it was the perfect place for a seduction.

As it was, he wasn't entirely certain who was seducing who.

"It's been a very long time." He closed the door behind them as Stacey went to the window, "it's beautiful, Harold."

He drank in the sight of her, silhouetted against the backdrop of the park. "You are beautiful." He said, she moved then, and he admired her grace and beauty. Her petite frame, she toed out of her platform shoes, and he realized that she really was tiny. No more than five-one or two. He almost towered over her. An unusual feeling for him.

She came close, put her hands up to his shoulders and looked into his eyes. "I want you." She said.

He sighed. "I should tell you to go. I should take you back home. You are only 21, Stacey, you had the right idea when we first met. Reese and I, we're the old guys. You have your whole life ahead of you."

She shook her head a little, and smiled. Her hand caressed his cheek and curved around his neck, gently. She stretched up, "no, you and Reese, you're the good guys, and I would miss you even if we never met," she whispered, her lips touched his and all thought of anything but this flew out of his head.

Her dress was silk, like the texture of her skin. One zip down the back, he drew it down slowly. Inch by inch, teasing her. Her slender fingers made short work of the buttons on his shirt, he shivered when her hands slid beneath the crisp material and caressed his flesh.

Her dress dropped to the floor and she stood there naked in front of him, unself-conscious. His hands slid around her waist and drew her to him, regretting that his injuries prevented him from sweeping her up into his arms. The eager young woman in his arms didn't care about that, Stacey flopped back onto the bed, pulling a still partially-clothed Finch with her. Her hands attacked his belt, and she helped him free himself of his suit trousers and the acid green silk boxers underneath.

Then it was only skin on skin, and losing themselves in the rhythm of love. A moment of resistance and surprise, her hands urging him on. The sweet flight of ecstasy.

"Stacey." He tried to summon the words. She snuggled closer, "I wanted it to be you." She breathed, kissing his cheek, nuzzling into his neck. He closed his eyes, wishing his damaged body could respond in the way he wanted it to.

They lay in the big bed, clothing scattered all around, and watched the sun slowly rise, making love again and again. Wishing for the night to never end.


	12. In sickness

Reese was feeling lousy, this wasn't the out of control feeling he got when he fell down a bottle of Wild Turkey, this was full-on flu. Even with his eyes screwed shut, his body missed the warmth and soft curves of Carter's the instant she left. He hated showing pain, but his arm was throbbing in time to the beating pulse of the headache, pressure was building behind his eyes and his lungs felt like they had been rubbed down with sandpaper.

The very last thing he wanted was to be a burden to either Carter or Finch. So he had to get up and get out of there. Slink home with his tail between his legs and rest up.

"John?"

He grunted something that might have been an answer, but his throat was too sore for speech. A gentle hand stroked his hair.

"Stay there, John."

He wanted to protest, get out of the way, crawl away and lick his wounds, but the bed was soft and warm, and he wasn't quite able to be proof against the softened tones in her voice.

Joss sat next to Reese on the bed, he was sick, and trying too hard not to be. Something about his stubbornness melted her heart. He had a touching faith in her too, and Jocelyn Carter could think of many reasons why John's stubborn and touching faith in her could be seen to be misguided.

She was aware that Finch didn't entirely trust her, and that Finch's distrust, aside from the man's usual paranoia, had been earned when she had betrayed John to Mark Snow. Even though she had been played, and Reese had clearly forgiven her, Finch maintained a certain reserve. She couldn't blame him, Joss couldn't quite get the image of the seriously wounded John she had helped into Finch's car out of her head either.

As she helped him into Finch's car, the look in John's eyes spoke of a weary defeat, and she wasn't sure if she would ever see him alive again. Without meaning to, her heart clenched within her at that dreadful sight.

Knowing that she had got him shot. Accepting that for all her posturing, the day he had saved her life when her CI had been bought by Elias, Joss Carter did trust her mysterious guy in the suit, and she had brought hell itself down on his head. If he had died that day, she would probably have had to walk away from the job. Knowing that wherever her moral compass lay, getting the man shot who had saved your life; spared you so that you could get to go home to your son, well that was contemptible.

But John had survived. He was as tough as they came. And, she got to make up for the error of judgment that could have killed him.

Now he needed her.

Joss put a jug of water beside the bed with a glass, made sure that the quilt was tucked around him, fetched a second comforter from the cupboard in the hall and spread it over him. _Keep him warm, give him plenty of fluids._ She was a mother, she knew the drill.

Although she didn't feel even slightly motherly towards John Reese; though the moment when she moved to get up, he made a funny little sound in the back of his throat and cuddled closer. Her heart flipped over at that sound.

When she laid the back of her hand against his forehead and realized that in the fifteen minutes or so since she had left his side to prepare for her day, and when she had returned to order him to stay put, his temperature had gone up, she really started to worry.

She went to the medicine cabinet in her bathroom then, and picked up her thermometer. When she took it, his temperature was 102°.

He needed more than rest and fluids. If she went through her own channels Snow would get to finish what he started, and Joss would be responsible for Reese's death. Which left Harold Finch.

She glanced at Reese's phone lying on the bedside table. He was too far out of it to ask for help himself. It was an invasion of their privacy, but John needed medical attention, and the one person she knew would provide Reese with instant medical help was Harold Finch.

She picked up Reese's phone. No saved numbers, not even the phone's number. Essentially a blank, but she could send a text from his phone to hers. Longest shot in the world. But Finch kept a close watch on Reese, she knew he did, and this was a shot she needed to take.

_Finch, he's sick. Needs your help._

Her phone pinged with an arriving message. And she carefully erased it. It was a risk, but then everything was. John was worth the risk, she didn't want to fight anymore.

She supposed that she wasn't surprised when her phone rang within seconds. Finch would be there very shortly, with the help that John needed.

Carter knew what she was going to do this time. Stay with him. Without the slightest hesitation she dialed the precinct's number. She was calling in sick.

When she had done all that she could do, she sat back down on the bed, Reese burrowed against her, and she held him in her arms while they waited for the support.

* * *

Finch had had the feeling that Reese's soaking from the other night was going to cause more problems and it had. Confronting his feelings for his employee was an unexpected twist.

If anyone had asked him before Reese's shooting what his feelings were for John Reese, Finch would have said 'employee' without hesitation. Since the shooting, his own kidnapping and subsequent rescue, Reese's own crafty intervention in what he saw as Harold's barren life, the dynamic had shifted.

Deep inside, Finch couldn't be hard-edged about it. John Reese was an intelligent, sensitive human being, almost broken by what a government agency had tried to turn him into. Every day Finch turned his weapon, Reese, loose upon the city, he knew he was turning the city, or more properly the criminal elements of the city loose on John Reese.

One tiny corner of his soul almost wished that John Reese had taken the money and run, right at the beginning. He would be safe now. Not lying in his bed in an apartment that Finch owned, sicker than Finch had ever seen him even after being shot.

Once again, Dr Tillmann was helping them out. She fixed a saline drip, and recommended oxygen. "To help ease his breathing." She didn't say it. She didn't have to, Finch knew that additional oxygen for a man of Reese's health and strength spelt bad things for just how sick Reese had become.

Tillmann had shown Finch and Detective Carter how to change the saline bags, how to administer the medication, "keep him warm, keep him quiet, and try to bring his temperature down, but do let him sleep as much as possible. I'll come back tomorrow morning and see how he's doing."

So now it was a waiting game, and Finch's fears started to rise again. Because as hard as it was to accept, John Reese had become something much more than an employee. And it was yanking Finch's guts out to see him in that condition.

He didn't know what he would say to Stacey. He didn't know what to say to Detective Carter, he could see the tears in her eyes, he could feel the tears in his own soul. But Stacey was so young, she saw things in terms of black and white, how could he tell her of his own fears for Reese's life.


	13. Elias

_Three days_. Harold Finch straightened up from the chair he was slumped in with a groan. His damaged body didn't need the extra abuse. Slim, gentle fingers landed on his shoulders, and began to rub, but carefully. He, who kept the truth of everything to himself, had found himself confessing the truth of his injuries and surgery to Stacey. She knew about the fusion surgery, and the pins in his neck, she knew about his back and his hip, and the limp that was permanent.

Then she carefully put her hands on him, and began massage. It was subtle the changes he could read in the level of pain he routinely experienced, and it would never be a permanent improvement she warned him. But perhaps it might help a little.

He nearly drowned then, in the hope in her brown eyes. The glisten of tears he knew were for his suffering. There was nothing she could have done to prevent the accident, and nothing she could do to take away the pain permanently. But that was Stacey, she did what she could.

Right now he was more grateful than he could possibly express for her patience, her understanding, and her determination to keep things on an even keel while John…

Harold stared down at his partner. At least Reese was off the oxygen, and he was lucid in the moments he woke up. Tillmann was pleased with his progress, the fever had come down.

Now he was just tired, lethargic and wiped out from the pneumonia that had wracked his system for three days. Carter had been forced to go back to work, with a reluctance that was both gratifying and strangely unnerving to Finch. Of course, the instant that John awoke with a relatively clear head, he had wanted to get up and return to duty.

It was Stacey who kept him in bed. She sat and argued with him. Reese swept all the arguments that both Finch and Stacey could make aside easily. Then Stacey cried.

She didn't sob and wail. She just allowed her tears to gather and fall. It stopped Reese in his tracks. If it hadn't been serious, Harold Finch would almost have laughed at the confused and guilty expression on John Reese's face. The man faced bullets on a daily basis, thugs armed with all sorts of weapons, he had fought for his life and for the lives of others, now he was stopped in his tracks by the tears of a woman.

Reese backtracked. He promised to stay put. And would she please now stop crying.

"Oh don't stop me." Stacey said, "I discovered this quite by accident when I was eight. Nonno always said it was my most useful skill." She leant in and gave Reese a kiss on the cheek. "You promised." The upward inflection on the end of the word showing that she wasn't to be trifled with.

The way she melted into Harold's arms, the heat seeker kiss that they shared. Reese didn't know whether to die of embarrassment or whether Harold was going to kill him for being privy to such a 'secret'.

Then she was gone.

Reese slumped back against the pillows and turned dazed eyes in Finch's direction.

"Unbelievable." He muttered.

"Y..Yes." It was not lost on Reese that his employer was just as dazed and confused as he was. Stacey Collins was a force to be reckoned with.

* * *

Once clear of the building, Stacey started to lay down a trail that a bloodhound wouldn't be able to follow. Keeping Harold and John safe was the most important thing for her right now.

Keeping trouble away from Harold and John meant that they got to do what they did so brilliantly. And Stacey Anne Collins got to spend time with the most brilliant, kind, wonderful man she had ever met.

She had never been in love before. Now all at once, she had blundered into something so powerful it took her breath away. She had known the instant their hands joined in the restaurant at the club, something happened. It was subtle. He was terrified. She was terrified, but going through with what they had done had sent the message that Stacey knew what they were about and she wasn't scared of them. Even though he was terrified, Harold had done everything he could to make the dinner experience a happy one for her. He had flirted with her, he was clever and charming and sweet, and special. She could listen to him talk all day.

She had heard of Carl Elias, she had never met him, but she had heard enough not to care for the man's ambitions. It had been Elias who had taken John and her horse Harold. That he had done that, and not made a move since was bothering her.

Driving back and forth between the city and the beach house that Harold had bought her, made her day very long. But it was worth it until she could re-settle in New York. Besides if she built up the business, she would have some sort of income and be able to put a manager in place for when she did move back. Have more than one shop. That was a prospect that appealed.

She looped back to her car, she was within a block when she spotted someone she had seen before. Incredibly unlucky, she glanced up, spotted the second man and knew that she was going to have to make a fight of it.

_Here we go again!_ Her overriding emotion was one of anger. Here were the idiots who stole her horse, and injured John. "What part of NO, ain't clear." Stacey growled under her breath, fisting her trusty lighter and pulling out a full can of hairspray.

"Time to play boys, and girly's got a whole bag of tricks." She had been dealing with this crap her whole life, and she sure was sick of it.

It was the same two idiots from the building where John had come to her aid. Stacey unleashed something between a howl of rage and a growl of frustration and ignited the hairspray, just as thug number one was reaching for her. "Didn't get enough of this the first time, huh." Thug two grabbed her, Stacey slammed her head back into his face with force. He yelped and let go.

She ran. Platform heels were not made for sprinting, but she had been doing that a long time too. She rounded a corner. Checked, no one seemed to be following her, turned back to walk away, which was when she saw him.

She had never seen him, but she knew who she was looking at. "Elias." She looked down, saw what was in his hand, knew that he was crazy enough to kill her then and there. Survival mattered the most here. He reached out to grab her arm, resistance would get her killed, and all she could think of was how this was going to hurt her lover.


End file.
